


Come Away With Me

by Batedbreath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Choice, Consent, Determinism, Falling In Love, M/M, POV Alternating, Sharing a Bed, Unresolved Sexual Tension, autonomy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-25 00:44:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19734949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batedbreath/pseuds/Batedbreath
Summary: “I’m never gonna…” Derek trails off and looks up at the inky sky as if he’s searching for the right words in the clouds. “I’ll never make you do anything. Especially not when it comes to this. If you don’t want to show them your mark, I won’t let it happen.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soulmate AU: Stiles doesn't know that the mark on the left side of his chest is identical to the mark between Derek's shoulder blades.

“Stiles, we can’t turn this in.”

“Huh? Why?”

Lydia waves Stiles’s half of their term paper in front of his face. Her nails are a pristine shiny red today.

He grabs the paper from her, crumpling it in the process. “I worked on that for like, twenty years.”

“It’s got nothing to do with the prompt and it’s way too long. You didn’t even read the directions, did you?”

“I skimmed,” Stiles lies. His eyes stray to Derek for the fifteenth time. Or, more precisely, the computer screen in front of Derek.

“The directions are so clear. It’s only supposed to be _three_ pages. _Three_. What does your soulmark mean to you? That is literally the only thing you need to answer.”

Here’s the conundrum: Stiles is 80% sure that he deleted his search history in the past 48 hours. It’s pretty good odds that he did. Derek didn’t even ask if he could use Stiles’s laptop; He just kind of walked in to his dorm room and sat down at his desk. Which is like, confusing because on one hand, it’s weirdly sweet that they know each other well enough to just barge in and use each other’s shit – and yes, Stiles can admit it’s shaky, pathetic ground he’s walking on here. On the other hand, if Derek had given him even a five second warning, he could have made 100% sure that nothing embarrassing would pop up. (Stiles can just imagine it: Any minute now Derek will spin slowly around in Stiles’s squeaky desk chair, a crease between his brows and ask, ‘ _What is frat-boy-physicals-dot-com_?’ Which, Stiles reminds himself, would not matter at all. When your chances with someone are zero there’s no way to get lower than that.)

“… you know what? I’m just gonna write your half.” Lydia blows a long lock of red hair out of her face and pulls her laptop on to her lap with a determined look in her eye.

Stiles tears his eyes away from Derek’s ominous Googleing.

“Look, I’ll – I’ll cut down the length, okay? But I’m not changing the contents.”

“Stiles – ”

Stiles holds up his crumpled, twenty-page exercise in futility. “This is what I really think about my soulmark.” He tosses it down dramatically between where they are sitting on his dorm room floor. “It’s symbolic at best. Meaningless at worst.”

Lydia takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly like she’s trying to summon the will to live or something. Stiles takes the opportunity to glance back at Derek.

“You are a moron. Truly,” she tells him. “Cut down the length and then we can make the final page about the – the wide array of emotions soulmarks can stir in people.” She’s already typing. “Even when those emotions are wrong and stupid.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles lies back down, cushioning his head on his backpack. There’s an excellent view of his computer screen from this angle and also an excellent view of Derek’s contemplative face as he studiously jots down notes on a piece of binder paper. “It’s my right and privilege to be wrong and stupid.”

Lydia shakes her head. Her lips are pursed in disapproval, but she doesn’t comment further on the matter. Derek is predictably silent.

It’s profoundly unfair that Stiles has to be surrounded by people who have the whole life partner thing all figured out. Not one of them is on his side about this. Scott is just as sickeningly enamored of Allison as he always has been, and Jackson and Lydia are content in their weird passive-aggressive love quadrangle between the two of them and their massive egos. Boyd and Erica are stoic and intimidating but they definitely love each other. Isaac, who’s single, is convinced that ‘the one’ will show up any day now. Even Derek’s not skeptical about the whole soulmate thing like Stiles is, he just believes it’s doomed for him, specifically. Very on brand.

Lydia fiddles with the little gold watch on her wrist. “Shit. It’s already one.” She starts shoving her laptop and various notebooks into her overlarge purse. “We didn’t get anything done.”

“I’ll fix my half by tonight, I swear,” Stiles says, watching his ceiling fan. The repetitive whooshing sound and the warm afternoon air flowing in through the open window makes him drowsy.

The door slamming shut muffles whatever irritated quip she throws back at him and then there’s nothing in the room but the whoosh of the fan, the faint buzz of students chatting three stories down, and Derek’s slow breathing and occasional typing. Stiles kicks off his shoes.

“What are you looking for?” he asks.

Derek scribbles something down on his paper. “Crime statistics in Tahoe over the last few months.”

“Because…” Stiles prompts. When Derek doesn’t answer: “You’re thinking of investing in real estate? You’re scoping out a nice timeshare?”

Derek’s mouth twitches a little. “No. I think there’s some new wolves up there and I want to keep a record of everything they’re doing. Or could be doing.”

“Mmm,” Stiles hums. This happens every few months; Derek catches wind of some new potential pack in Northern California and he keeps tabs on them. Within weeks, they’ve either moved on or he’s decided they pose no threat. “Any luck?”

“Some strange sightings, that’s all.”

“That’s good, right?” Stiles asks. “They’re just passing through.”

“Probably,” Derek says but he sounds unsure. “I caught a trail of the Alpha in the area yesterday.”

“What does that mean?”

Derek shuts Stiles’s laptop and folds his paper into thirds. “It means I’m going up to Tahoe this week to discuss boundaries with the newcomers.”

“I could come with you,” Stiles says, bold. “We could go this weekend. Talk diplomacy.”

Derek doesn’t even pretend to consider it. “No.”

A few years ago, this would raise every hackle Stiles has. Hasn’t he proved himself useful? Worthy?

“It could be fun?” It comes out like a question. Stiles doesn’t know why he bothers asking. It’s like poking a bruise. “We could drive up Saturday morning, take the Jeep…” Stop to get coffee, argue over what to put on the radio. Stiles shuts that fantasy down before he says it out loud.

Derek’s response is automatic: “It’s not safe.” He stands up and stows his paper in his jacket pocket. Stiles watches him from his spot on the carpet.

He considers arguing but there’s no point. He sits up, elbows resting on his knees. “Okay.”

Derek slaps him on the shoulder by way of goodbye on his way to the door.

“Wait,” Stiles says, scrambling off the floor; Derek turns. “Go out through the back stairs. My RA has been getting on my case.”

Stiles is done with getting warnings about the weird guy who manages to climb through Stiles’s third story window. That shit may fly in Beacon Hills but Derek’s been spotted doing it in Berkeley twice now.

Derek rolls his eyes and closes the door. Stiles plods over to his desk and deletes his search history twice, just to be sure.

* * *

Derek’s brushing his teeth Saturday morning when there’s a knock at his door and a familiar heart beating just this side of too fast. He spits out his toothpaste, pulls on a shirt and tamps down the usual guilty excitement. 

Stiles is standing on the other side of his door. He’s holding two cups of coffee and wearing a bright smile. “Hi,” he says, holding out a cup for Derek. “For you.” He taps the cup twice. “Two cream, no sugar.”

Derek takes the coffee from him wordlessly. It seems to convey everything he wants it to because Stiles starts defending himself immediately.

“I know you said I shouldn’t come with you to talk to the new pack up North but I really think…” he waves his hands vaguely, “I think you’ll get bored. It’s a long drive. I promise I won’t even try to be a part of the talks with them, I swear.”

Derek sighs. “Stiles, it’s not safe.” Stiles has probably heard those very words from him so many times throughout the years that by now they mean nothing to him. “I don’t know anything about this pack. I’m just going to talk to them about keeping to their own territory. Going by myself will seem less threatening.”

Stiles leans against Derek’s door frame. He says nothing for a moment, looking put out which makes Derek, as usual, want to relent.

“Can I at least come in?” Stiles has this way of making it seem like he’s looking up at Derek with his big earnest eyes and long dark lashes, even though he can’t be more than a few inches shorter. It makes his stomach tie itself in knots; Derek steps aside before he’s fully decided to.

Stiles smiles and walks in, plopping down on Derek’s couch like he lives there. “Alright,” he says. “Alright. How about I just come on the drive? I won’t even be around for the talks, I’ll stay at the hotel or whatever.”

Derek closes his door and leans back against it. He takes a tentative sip of his coffee. It’s perfect, just how he likes it. “Why do you want to come then?”

Stiles pauses at that. “I – I don’t know. To hang out. Or something,” he stammers.

Some days Derek is tempted to crack and just tell Stiles what is so clear to everyone else. The mark over the left side of Stiles’s chest is the same one between Derek’s shoulder blades. But Stiles doesn’t believe in Soulmates and he doesn’t feel that way about Derek, so what does it really matter? It would change nothing. If anything, it would make it all much worse.

In the end, his own selfishness wins out.

“Fine, you can come. But – hey –” Stiles is already grinning hugely. “You cannot come to meet with the Alpha, alright?”

Stiles pretends to sober up but the uptick in his heart and breathing gives him away. “Absolutely, dude. No problem.” He smiles.

Derek shakes his head and pushes himself off the door. “Do we need to stop by campus to get your stuff?”

Stiles shakes his head. “I brought a bag of clothes and shit. It’s in the Jeep.”

He already knew Derek would say yes. Of course he did.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles spends at least half an hour of the car ride explaining to Derek what constitutes ‘pop punk of the early 2000s’. The next two hours are spent arguing about baseball. It’s more fun than Derek’s had in a long time, not that he’s surprised. If he could spend all his time like this, he would.

Stiles says what Derek’s thinking out loud. “I love this,” he laughs, bounces in his seat a little. “What should we do when get to the hotel?” Stiles pulls out his phone. “I already looked up the place online – we could get a massage, there’s a hot tub, we could even –”

“No,” Derek says automatically, panicking at the mere idea of doing anything that would require him to take off his shirt and have his mark in full view of Stiles. “Let’s do something else. It’s too hot out for a hot tub”

“Dude, let’s rent a boat,” Stiles says, scrolling avidly through the pictures on his phone, completely oblivious to Derek’s internal panic. “Let’s just chill out on the lake all day.”

Derek sighs, glad his sunglasses are covering half his face. He knew this whole weekend would turn into some fucked up mirror of a life he’d only wish for at night, alone, with no one else around to witness it. A life where they do this kind of thing, just the two of them.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Derek says, even though he knows the fall out will be excruciating. Monday night in his apartment, when he’s away from Stiles’ infectious laugh and bright eyes, will be dreary and painful. Still, how is he supposed to say no to this when it’s everything he wants? He can’t. He never could.

Stiles’ smile is blinding. “Yeah?”

Derek smiles back, helpless. “Yeah.”

“Fucking –” Sties slaps the dashboard, “awesome.”

“I’m going to meet the Alpha first,” Derek says. “It shouldn’t take long.”

Stiles doesn’t argue but he also dims a little bit. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Still don’t understand why I can’t come with.”

“Because I don’t know anything about this pack,” Derek repeats for the third time. “If you come, it’ll be a distraction. I’ll worry.” Derek keeps his eyes on the road, expression safely hidden, but he bites his tongue all the same.

Stiles softens. “Okay. I’ll stay at the hotel. I swear.”

Derek nods, reassured. “It won’t take longer than an hour.”

They fall into silence as Stiles rolls his window down. The drive is beautiful; the wide winding road is lined with pine trees and the sky is a bright blue, not a single cloud in sight. Warm air blows into Derek’s face through the open window. Stiles turns up the volume on a slow, bluesy song.

_And I want to walk with you_

_On a cloudy day_

_In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high_

The drive is so peaceful that Derek really should’ve seen the inevitable coming.

He pushes open the door to their hotel room and immediately wants to kick himself. The room is spacious, filled with light from a tall window, and pushed against the wall is one queen bed.

“Fuck,” he mutters. How the hell did he overlook this?

Stiles pushes past him. “Oh,” he says. He drops his bag unceremoniously at his feet.

Silence. Derek can hear Stiles’ heartbeat pick up a notch.

“I can go ask for another room,” Derek says, already turning back to the door.

“What? No – it’s totally fine. I can sleep here.” Stiles plops down on the too-small couch against the opposite wall.

“No, you take the bed. I’ll get another room.”

“Derek, I basically invited myself, you don’t have to get another room. I can sleep here.”

Derek drops his own bag to the ground, annoyed. “I’m not gonna let you sleep on that thing. It’s way too small.”

“Well, you can get another room if you want but it’ll be stupid ‘cause I’m gonna sleep right here anyway and the bed will be empty so –”

Derek groans and rests his forehead against the wall.

“Or we could just –” Stiles abruptly closes his mouth.

Derek looks up. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Stiles, just. What?”

“We could, like. Share.”

“Share what?”

“Uh.” Stiles mouths words but nothing comes out. He turns around and starts pulling clothes out of his bag. “Never mind.”

Derek goes to sit down on the bed and wait him out. He lies back and closes his eyes. “Share what?”

Stiles huffs and plops down on the couch, blue and grey swim trunks in his lap. He fiddles with a loose hem, not making eye contact. “The bed.” 

Derek says nothing. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Oh, _of course_ , why didn’t Derek think of that? Why don’t they just _share_ the bed? And then they could just give _each other_ those massages and then, for the same emotional effect, Derek could just bang his head against the wall.

Stiles immediately backtracks. “Unless that’s like, weird. Never mind. It’s stupid, I can just stay on the couch, you take the bed and --”

“No, that’s fine,” Derek cuts him off. What does it matter at this point? He can either make it a big deal, make it weird, go downstairs and get another room or brush it off. He does his best to brush it off. “We’ll share.”

“Cool,” Stiles says, but his heart is still beating too fast.

Derek narrows his eyes at him. “Are you sure you’re alright with that?”

“Totally,” Stiles says and walks over to sit on the bed next to Derek as if to prove he’s totally fine with it. There’s a beat of silence. His heart speeds up minutely.

Derek shoves his shoulder against Stiles’; He drops his fangs and smiles at him. “Nervous?”

“Pfft,” Stiles shoves his shoulder back against Derek’s. “What the hell do I have to be nervous about?” He lays back on the bed, spreading out to take up the whole thing. “You think you’re way scarier than you are.” He pushes against Derek’s back with a socked foot. “Go meet with this Alpha guy so we can go chill on a boat.”

Derek turns around and grabs Stiles ankle, pulling him all the way down the bed; he yelps a laugh.

“Admit you’re scared of me,” Derek says, holding Stiles’ ankle up threateningly.

Stiles bites back a hysterical laugh. “You wish – oh my god, don’t, that’s not fair at all, dude –”

Stiles kicks at him, laughing hysterically as Derek digs his fingers into the sole of Stiles’ foot.

Stiles twists himself out of Derek’s hold and gets under the heavy comforter. “If you do that again I’m getting the boat without you.” He peaks out from the covers to watch Derek pull his jacket on.

“No, please, don’t do that,” Derek says, monotone.

Stiles snorts. “Stop pretending you’re not psyched. I’m gonna get Champaign and shit. It’s gonna be awesome.”

Derek swallows, smooths invisible wrinkles on his shirt. “Right. If I’m not back in two hours, don’t come looking for me.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and drops back on the pillows. “It’s like you don’t know me at all.” 

* * *

The forest is darker shades of green and the smells are different up the coast, but it doesn’t feel particularly threating. Derek walks the path until he comes to what he was looking for. The house looks nothing like the old dilapidated mansion that Derek called home for so long, rather it’s small but bright, the windows thrown wide and a small garden blooming in the front. Derek stops in his tracks about 50 feet back when a woman pushes open the creaky front door. She’s petite, with brown hair and dark golden skin. Her eyes flash upon seeing Derek and he knows he found what he’s looking for.

“Hale pack?” She asks.

Derek nods, unsure, but she just smiles and waves him over. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

He watches her disappear back inside, hesitant. Is it worse to trap yourself in an enclosed space with an Alpha you don’t know or appear suspicious and rude and fuck up the talks before they even begin? Derek’s not sure. His sister was always better at this kind of thing.

She pops her head back outside the door, her long braids swaying. “You came all this way, I assume you want to talk, no?”

Derek nods again. He slowly walks up the gravel path to the door and she ushers him in.

The inside is bright and colorful. Beaded tapestries separate rooms; strange paintings hang on the walls. All of her cookware hangs from hooks above a small stove.

Derek towers over her, she can’t be more than five feet tall, but she doesn’t seem perturbed.

“Sit, sit,” she says, motioning to a small, intricately carved table. “I’ll make tea.”

Derek sits stiffly, never taking his eyes off her back as she turns to the tiny kitchen to heat water.

“You’re Thalia’s boy,” she says. Not a question.

Derek’s heart skips a beat. “Yes – how did you know that?”

She grabs two bright red ceramic mugs that have pine trees painted on them and places one in front of Derek. “I knew her,” she says simply. She waves a hand, “way, way back. Way before you.”

She sits down across from Derek. Now that she’s not bustling around Derek can see that she’s quite a bit older than he originally thought; There are laugh lines around her eyes and mouth and her hair has wispy grey flyways. “I’m sorry. It’s a tragedy what happened to your family.”

Derek nods faintly. He’s completely caught off guard. “How do you know about all of that?”

The tea kettle goes off and she’s up again, long skirt billowing behind her. “Your mom and I went to school together.”

Derek’s struck dumb, numb with it. Words are often difficult but they’re particularly troublesome now that he has so many questions and no idea where to begin.

“To college?” he asks, voice hoarse.

She drops a tea bag into his cup and pours the steaming water over it. “No, no. High school.”

Derek knows his mom grew up in upstate New York, but he doesn’t even know the name of the high school she would have went to. In some ways, this woman sitting in front of him probably knows her better than Derek ever did. His sixteen-year-old self just never thought to ask this kind of thing and never got the chance.

An hour passes without Derek remembering to mention anything about boundaries or territories. They talk about what she was like in high school, the things they did together, the letter she once wrote about Derek’s father after going off to college. “Probably around here somewhere,” she says offhandedly. If Stiles weren’t at the hotel, Derek might stay here all day. His mug has been emptied and refilled twice by the time he decides he better get going.

“I’m actually here because I want to discuss boundaries. My pack is... chaotic. I just don’t want any trouble.”

She nods. “Mhm. I know.”

Derek sighs in relief. “Great. Just let me know next time your pack comes down the peninsula.”

“Sure, dear.” She smiles and he believes her. She sips her second cup of tea. “Your pack is quite large.”

“And young,” Derek can’t help but add. His pack is a mess but at least they’re family these days.

She pats his hand. “Be grateful for that.” She takes their empty cups back to the sink. “You wouldn’t be opposed to providing descriptions of each of your wolves’ soulmarks, would you?”

“Oh,” Derek starts, unsure. It isn’t unheard of. Neighboring packs give descriptions of their soulmarks to identify each other. It’s probably meant to appease him, to show she’s serious about keeping the peace. “Of course,” he says.

She hands him plain paper and a pen and he stares at it. He starts with Scott, describes the black mosaic on his wrist that matches Allison’s on her hip. Isaac, Erica, Boyd… He almost writes _Stiles_ and then thinks better of it. Stiles has no idea that their soulmarks are identical. He knows Derek’s mark is on his back and he’s probably figured out that it’s why Derek doesn’t ever take off his shirt in front of people but… writing that down for this stranger to know before Stiles seems… wrong. Derek knows that it’s obvious to the rest of the pack, even if they’ve never asked him directly. He knows that this is all going to come to a head and he’s going to have to tell Stiles eventually. He’d just rather Stiles stay in his life a little longer.

He puts the pen down and pushes the paper over to her.

She pushes her own towards him, three names and descriptions next to them. The first name is Sylvia.

“Sylvia?” He asks, looking up. He never even asked her name.

She smiles and holds out her hand and Derek shakes it. “I’m Derek,” he says.

“Nice to meet you, Derek.”

Derek nods, feeling broken open and exhausted by it all. He makes to get up. 

“Before you go –” she says and hurries back behind a dark maroon tapestry. She comes back out moments later with a small ornate picture frame. She hands it to him.

The girls in the picture can’t be older than fifteen or sixteen. One is curly haired and gap toothed, with golden skin and dark hair and eyes. The other is freckled, with dark brown ringlets and green eyes that match Derek’s. Their arms are thrown around each other’s shoulders, huge smiles on their young faces, frozen in time and faded over the years. Derek’s breath catches as he realizes what he’s looking at.

His head snaps up to Sylvia. “Thank you,” he breathes. “Could I… Can I keep this?”

Her eyes soften. She touches his shoulder. “Of course, dear.”

* * *

By the time Derek gets back Stiles is starfished on the floor of their hotel room, drinking Champaign out of the bottle.

“Oh my god!” He scrambles up. “Where the fuck were you? I was _this_ close to coming to get your ass.”

Derek grabs the Champaign from Stiles’ fist. It’s already half empty. He raises an eyebrow. “You were gonna come rescue me?” He smirks as Stiles stumbles a bit and sits down on the bed.

Stiles narrows his eyes at him. “I could, you know. I would have.”

“Okay,” Derek says, “okay.”

They do end up renting a boat after a minor argument with the dock manager about Stiles not being allowed to drive said boat drunk. Derek assures the man he would be in charge.

The lake is crystal clear and it’s hot as hell out. Stiles takes his shirt off as soon as they’re in open water, long and lean and beautiful, clearly ecstatic to be exactly where he is. 

It’s one of the strangest days of Derek’s life. He watches Stiles, drops of sweat skating down his collar bone, the smile on his face and the triskelion clear on his chest and wants to tell him every detail of his meeting with the Alpha.

So when Stiles suddenly says, “What are you thinking about?” Derek actually answers him. He tells him about Sylvia and the stories and the photograph and Stiles listens. When he’s done Stiles is still silent. It has to be a first.

Finally he says, “Are you okay?”

It’s a complicated question and Derek feels suddenly exhausted. “I’m closer to okay than I’ve been in a long time,” he says honestly.

Stiles passes him the Champaign bottle and Derek takes it gratefully.

As the sun goes down Stiles stands up at the end of the little boat, throws his arms wide and screams that he’s king of the world. A few birds in nearby trees squawk in protest at him disrupting the peace. Derek pushes him in the lake and Stiles retaliates by being gorgeous and wet and endlessly flirtatious the rest of the night, completely unaware of the effect he has on Derek.

“Let’s play truth or dare,” Stiles says, opening a bottle of red wine. The sun is nearly hidden behind the trees and there’s only a few other boats left out on the lake.

Derek laughs. “How much alcohol did you get?” So far Derek’s seen two bottles of Champaign and a bottle of wine come out of Stiles’ backpack.

“Stop avoiding the question.”

“I’m not avoiding any questions.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Are you twelve?”

Stiles nudges Derek’s knee with his foot. “Are you scared?”

Derek huffs a laugh. “Scared of what? You know everything about me.”

“Not everything,” Stiles says. He grins around the neck of the wine bottle. 

Derek’s walking himself right into dangerous territory. “Um. Dare?”

“I dare you to jump in the water,” Stiles says immediately.

“I’m not doing that.”

“You have to, I just dared you to,” Stiles says, slurring a little. There are red spots high on his cheeks and his eyes are a little glassy. Derek tries and fails not to find it cute. He stands up and carefully maneuvers himself to stand over Stiles in an attempt at menacing.

“Then you have to come with me.” He grabs Stiles hands and tries to pull him up.

Stiles immediately starts trying to wiggle out of Derek’s hold. “Nope! No way!”

They both end up in the water five minutes later. Derek’s clothes are soaking wet and his hair is sticking flat to his forehead; His shirt is pulled up and sticking to his chest as he pulls himself back in the boat, out of breath with laughter.

Stiles lets out an honest to god snort in the middle of his giggle and grabs on to him, trying to balance. “Damn, you work out or something” he jokes, runs his hand down Derek’s bare stomach, long fingers tracing the indents and Derek has the sudden and irrational urge to take off his shirt and keep it off always, soulmark or public decency be damned. Stiles meets Derek’s eyes, water dripping from his wet hair down his neck, warm palm flat against Derek’s skin and winks. Derek’s insides melt into a puddle; His eyes flick helplessly down to Stiles’ mouth before he coughs and pulls his shirt down.

“We should get going,” he says. 

* * *

Stiles takes an extra-long shower when they get back to the hotel. He rests his forehead against the tile, let’s the water sleuth across his shoulders and tries to replay every part of this day. He dries off, brushes his teeth, and then has a long, silent talk with himself in the mirror. He will _not_ say some dumb shit when he gets in bed. He will not be awkward about this. He’s just gonna go to sleep. Next to Derek. He spends another five minutes deciding whether he should put on his pajama pants or just go out there in boxer briefs.

“Fuck it,” he mutters and pulls on a shirt, leaves his pants in his bag. Not like Derek gives a fuck.

Stiles pulls open the door and then stops short.

Derek is lying down on the far side of the bed in a soft Henley and flannel pajama pants, black thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, one arm thrown behind his pillow, the other holding a novel he’s apparently half way through.

“You read,” Stiles says dumbly.

Derek looks up from his book, his eyes skating down Stiles’ legs. Stiles shifts on his feet. Then, “Yes, I read, moron.” He throws one of Stiles’ pillows at him.

Stiles catches it and throws it back at Derek. He sits down on the bed, still staring at him. He looks…. “You wear glasses.” Stiles reaches out and touches the black frames for no reason, other than the fact that Derek Hale is sitting next to him in a bed, in soft clothes, reading a book. It’s probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen. So much for being totally not weird at all about this set up.

Derek gives him a look. “Sorry,” Stiles says, getting under the covers. “I’m still kinda tipsy.” Which is true. The room is spinning a bit.

Stiles eventually does fall asleep after turning away from Derek and listening carefully to his every movement for at least half an hour.

When he wakes up it’s early morning. Soft golden light spills into the room. Their bodies are turned toward each other like closed parenthesis. Derek’s kicked his sheets all the way down the bed during the night and he’s snoring softly. His face is lax in sleep, mouth slightly agape.

Stiles stares, basking in the chance to openly look without having to worry about being caught. Derek has stupidly perfect bone structure. Something about the high cheekbones and thick eyebrows, long eyelashes; The sheer force of Derek’s presence always feels a lot like being caught in a lightning storm so it’s easy to forget that he’s also beautiful.

“What,” Derek says groggily without opening his eyes, “are you staring at.”

“What the fuck. How did you do that?”

“I can feel you staring,” he murmurs.

“You’re so weird.”

“You’re the one watching me sleep.”

“That’s true,” Stiles tips his head to the side, still staring.

Derek opens one eye. His mouth twitches. “What?”

“You’re pretty,” Stiles says honestly.

A little crease appears between Derek’s brows. “Pretty,” he repeats like he’s never heard the word in his life.

Stiles rolls his eyes, feeling a little hot on the back of his neck. “Yeah, whatever, pretty.”

Derek stretches, his shirt riding up, further proving Stiles’ point. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me _pretty_.”

“Well,” Stiles averts his eyes, rolls out of bed. “Maybe if you were less of an asshole people would tell you you’re pretty more often.”

Derek snorts. “Thanks for the sage advice.”

“You’re welcome,” Stiles says and then, “Cutie pie.”

Derek pushes Stiles on to the bed on his way to the bathroom but he’s smiling so whatever.

The drive home is peaceful, mostly because Stiles (very, very kindly) does not nix Derek’s decision to put on sports talk radio even though it is so not road trip material. The closer they get to the Bay Area, the more tired Stiles feels. All he’s done is sit in the passenger seat and bitch about what fast food to get but still. The whole weekend is a lot to digest.

Derek was open with him, teased him, laughed with him, told him about the Alpha, shared a bed with him. Sure, Stiles sort of invited himself on this little escapade but even he can’t convince himself that Derek didn’t actually want him there. He did, Stiles could tell. He’s sure of it.

His years long hopeless crush feels like it’ll never end. He’ll go back to his dorm now and pick over every single thing that happened between them this weekend until he has no idea what it actually means; It’s like looking at your face in the mirror for too long or saying a word over and over until it’s a meaningless combination of sounds. He’ll go to work with Scott and he’ll study with Lydia and maybe someday he’ll meet someone who’s not completely emotionally unavailable just because there’s a stupid mark on their skin.


End file.
